A Christmas Angell
by ChibiDawn23
Summary: Awful title, I'm so sorry. Flack's spending Christmas alone after the death of Jess Angell, convinced it's going to be the worst Christmas ever, without her, until he meets a little boy who makes him take a second look at what he DOES have, and how much he has to give.


**Disclaimer** : I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY", they belong to Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I also don't own the song, "Santa, I'm Right Here" which was sung by Toby Keith way back in 1995, of which this story was heavily inspired.

 **Author's Note** : So, this one has been sitting on my hard drive for a few years. Since I'm currently in a writer's slump, I've been going back through to see if there's anything I can post up in the meantime ;) Also, I hate that I pick on Flack so much (I pick on him for New Years, I pick on him for Valentine's Day and now Christmas...but Eddie Cahill played him so well...

* * *

 _Screw Christmas_.

His mother would have washed his mouth out with soap. The nuns would have beat his hand red with a ruler. But Don Flack, Jr., was _not_ in the Christmas Spirit right now. He shoved his hands deeper in his black wool trenchcoat, cursing Christmas, snow, Santa, and happiness in general.

 _It wasn't fair._ He nearly bumped into a young couple about his age, holding hands. They wore matching knit caps. She was holding a Macy's bag, and he had roasted chestnuts in his gloved other hand. He was whispering in her ear and she was laughing. It was no wonder they had almost hit him. _Screw you and your cuteness_ , Flack thought unhappily.

It could've been him this year. He might have even gone out with her in a matching hat. He wouldn't have gone so far to dress like Doublemint Twins or anything… _well_ , he thought sadly, _if she had gazed up at me with those big brown doe eyes_ , _I probably would have agreed to anything_. She was good at the pout.

 _Was_.

He missed her. And this happy season of love and caring was only making his surly mood worse. Why did everyone else get to walk around the city with love and adoration for someone, when he couldn't? Why was everyone else allowed to have their Hallmark card moment when he was forced to spend Christmas without her?

He thought maybe he'd go out to see her. Talk to her. Even though she couldn't hear him, or talk back. _Yeah, that's great, Flack_ , he groused silently. _Spending Christmas in the cemetery. Like Scrooge._ He recalled the scene where the Ghost of Christmas Future shoved Scrooge into his own grave, and for a moment, wondered what it would take to get the Ghost to find him his own.

It hurt. It _hurt_. Every happy peal of laughter, every kiss he saw as he threaded his way through the crowds on Fifth Ave was like the doctors yanking the shrapnel from his heart out with no anaesthetic. They were all going to go home to happy little snow globe homes, sit in front of the tree or a fireplace snuggled on the couch.

And where was _he_ going to be? Probably at the bar at Sullivan's, drowning the Christmas Spirit in several pints of Guinness.

He walked past a Salvation Army Santa, ringing his handbell next to a red kettle. "Merry Christmas!"' Santa called to him, and Flack just about stopped, turned, and told Santa where to shove his handbell. Instead, he met Santa's eye, gave him a curt nod. And then he was alone on the street again. He walked past a little Santa World that one of the department stores had set up in its' entryway. A little girl was sitting on a decidedly skinny Santa's lap, her eyes bright and her cheeks rosy from the chilly weather. "And what do you want for Christmas, little one?" Skinny Santa asked her.

She started rattling off a list larger than the selection at FAO Schwarz.

Flack shook his head and kept walking. He remembered running into Danny and Lindsay on their way out of the precinct. Danny had Lucy in his arms, and was asking his baby girl, who only knew how to gurgle instead of speak words, what she wanted. He looked up and caught Flack's eye. "Oh, a pony, huh?" he'd teased. "Maybe Uncle Flack could get you one o' those, huh?"

'Uncle' Flack wasn't getting a pony for anybody. Even though he loved his honorary niece to pieces. _I asked for one thing_ , he thought quietly. _One thing, one Christmas miracle…Well Santa, I'm right here….still waiting…_

He turned the corner. The black and green pub light announcing he was just feet from Sullivan's glowed above him, like some twisted version of the Christmas Star. _Come in, come in, find the King. The King of Beers…_

The sound of crying caught his ears, and he stopped. Snow had started to lightly fall, and he buttoned the top button on his jacket as he debated whether or not to investigate. Detective won out over depression, and he walked backwards to where he had heard the sound.

Sitting inside a covered bus stop was a little boy, who couldn't have been much older than seven or eight. He was wearing a little Mets hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and a ratty pair of blue tennis shoes. He had brown hair, but Flack couldn't see his eyes or his face, as they were buried in his sweatshirt sleeves.

"Hey." Flack said. The little boy jumped, and he felt rotten. "I'm a regular Scrooge tonight," he muttered. He'd come off a little harsher than he'd wanted. The boy looked up at him with bright blue eyes. "What are you doin' out here, kid?" Flack asked, softening his tone to the one he normally reserved for kids at the precinct or crime scene-or his kids at the Y. "It's like twenty degrees out. Where's your coat?"

"My little sister has it," the boy said quietly.

"What are you doing out here?" Flack asked him again.

The boy burst into tears, burying his head in his sweatshirt again. _Oh hell_. Flack stepped into the bus stop and sat down on the bench next to the boy. "Does your mom know you're out here?"

He shook his head.

"What's your name?"

"Dean," the little boy said.

Flack sighed. "Well, Dean…you wanna tell me what you're doing out here in the middle of the city with no coat?"

"I was going to see S-Santa," Dean explained between sobs. "Momma said I couldn't."

"And….you decided to go anyway?" Flack questioned him. _He's starting this rebellion thing a little young_.

Dean nodded. "I wanted to tell him what I wanted for Christmas. And I wanted to tell him where he could find me."

"Find you?" Flack repeated. "I thought Santa knew where all the good little boys' houses were?"

Dean looked up at Flack, little blue eyes matching bigger blue eyes. "He knew where to find our _old_ house," Dean replied. "But we're not there anymore."

Suddenly, Flack had a pretty good idea where this conversation was going. "I think Santa knows where to find houses with fireplaces or Christmas trees," he said, leading. _I did not expect I'd be having the 'Santa' talk with a kid tonight._

Dean shook his head. "We don't have a tree this year. At least, not ours."

 _Bingo_. Flack glanced up at the roof of the bus stop, then let his breath out slowly through his nose.

Dean was homeless.

Flack had heard that some of the city workers had been laid off because so many things were automated now. He'd read stories in the paper of guys who had been with a company 20 years who were laid off suddenly because a computer could do their job and didn't want holiday pay. He would bet dollars to donuts that Dean's mom or dad had been one of those workers.

 _I don't know what to do here,_ he thought, directing his thoughts skyward. _How can I tell this kid it's all gonna be okay when I don't even believe it myself_?

"I-I wanted to tell Santa that my little sister needs a coat-and not mine," Dean was telling him. "And I thought maybe Daddy could help him build all the toys and stuff. And Mom wants a new pair of shoes 'cause the ones she got now make her feet cold, and she's gotta walk to work and it's like ten blocks!" he sobbed. "I just want us to have our house back, and I want my puppy!"

Flack began to feel the ice melt off his heart, little by little. "A puppy, huh?" he found himself asking. "What kind of puppy did you have?"

"A black one."

"Yeah? What was his name?" Flack asked.

"Beanie," Dean replied.

Flack found himself chuckling in spite of himself. "Beanie?" he repeated.

"Daddy said he jumped around a lot, like one of them jumping beans," Dean explained, as if it made perfect, logical sense.

"And your puppy didn't get to move with you, huh?"

"They won't let there be pets at the shelter," Dean said. "I just wanted to tell Santa what we wanted, even thought Momma said that we should be happy with what we got, and that Santa might not be able to find us 'cause we aren't at our house no more." Tears welled in his eyes again. "But I just _know_ Santa could find us, and he could make it all better!" He crawled into Flack's lap and buried his face in Flack's jacket. "I just want everything to go back to normal for Christmas," Dean sniffled into Flack's coat.

 _You and me both, buddy. You and me both_. Flack wrapped an arm around the kid and rested his chin on the boy's head. They held that position for a few minutes.

Flack was deep in thought. _Jess, I don't know what to do. It's so hard to want to make somebody else's Christmas wishes come true when your own won't. I wanted this Christmas to be happy and perfect, with you in my arms. I don't know what to do._

A song wafted on by from a car's open window- _I'll be home for Christmas…if only in my dreams…_ A breeze lifted the hair on Flack's neck, and he shivered.

Jess's face flashed through his mind, her big eyes and her laughing smile brightening his cold day like an unexpected burst of sunshine. _Quit moping around, Flack,_ her voice chided him, like she was sitting next to him. You _have a home to go home to tonight. You have an adorable niece and friends waiting for you. And yeah, okay, you're gonna have to work Christmas Day because you're too nice to let the rookies work it, but come on. Your Christmas isn't gonna be_ that _bad, will it?_

 _Except you're not here,_ Flack told her.

 _Yeah, I'm not,_ she agreed. _I was excited for this Christmas. You were actually going to get some decent ties from me._ He snorted, and she laughed. _But anyway, you know what would make this a great Christmas? If you get off your ass, and give that little boy some hope. Because that's what I would do._

And he knew what he should do. So lost in thought, Flack hadn't noticed that the little guy had fallen asleep in his lap. Smiling, Flack gently picked the boy up and hefted him up so his head rested on his shoulder. Then he threaded his way back onto the sidewalk. A little bakery had Christmas lights up in the window, and it was like they were twinkling at him, to the beat of a happy little song that only he and the lights were able to hear. There was a small sign in the window, and Flack copied down the phone number.

Flack walked the boy back to the closest shelter. He spotted Dean's mother right away as he came inside-she had the same eyes. He handed her little boy to her and showed her his badge, and explained why the kid had run off on Christmas. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to express how thankful she was that Flack had brought him back. Over in a corner, he spotted a little brunette girl in pigtails get up from a puzzle on the floor she was working on with a man Flack guessed must have been Dean and his sister's father, and bound over to her mother, begging her to come look at the puzzle, completely oblivious to her mother's tears, and Flack's heavy heart. She looked up at him and smiled brilliantly, and Flack couldn't help but return the infectious grin.

He made an excuse about having to leave. In truth, he needed to go pick up a few things. He floated down the sidewalk now, _ala_ Gene Kelly in 'Singin' in the Rain', except it was snowing. And it was strange….but he almost swore he felt Jess walking right there with him.

* * *

Christmas Day came bright and early. Dean Robertson woke up under his donated quilt and looked up at the ceiling. It was Christmas! His eyes lit up. Then he remembered where he was…and his face fell. He sat up in bed, looking down at his little sister, who was sleeping soundly next to him. In the bed next to them, his mother and father were still asleep.

Dean carefully got out of bed. Maybe if he made it to the common room he could catch some of the cartoon Christmas shows on TV before the old guys got out there and turned on infomercials or football. He padded his way out to where the glowing Christmas tree sat. Something under the tree caught his eye, and he bent down to get a good look. There was a bright blue box under the tree with his sister's name on it. "T-To Anna," he pronounced slowly. "From S-Santa!" His blue eyes widened, and he flew back to his family's room. "Momma! Daddy! Annie, Annie, wake up, you gotta come _see_ this! Santa found us, he _found_ us!" He didn't wait for them to get up, he tugged on his father's arm until Jason Robertson finally rolled out of bed and woke up his wife. Gloria Robertson picked up Anna from the bed and the family made their way out to the common room. "Look look!" Dean cried. He pointed to the blue box. "This one's for Anna!"

Gloria and Jason looked up at the reception desk. The dark-haired woman behind the counter grinned. "They were there when I got in this morning," she replied with a smile. "Looks like Santa found you!"

Anna was happily digging into her box, and triumphantly pulled out a puzzle and a mint green winter coat. "Look Dean!" she said happily. "I don't hafta wear yours no more!"

"Mommy, here's yours!" Dean said, thrusting a silver box at his mother. She lifted the lid…and smiled as she pulled out a pair of winter boots. The tops were fur-lined, and the material was heavy enough her feet wouldn't get soaked. There was also a prepaid Metrocard.

She lifted out a small red box and handed it to her husband. "This one's for you, Jay," she said, awestruck by this Christmas miracle. He took the box with a trembling hand and opened it. Inside was a piece of notebook paper with a phone number and the words 'Help Wanted'.

He glanced at his wife, and smiled. "Well, Dean," he said, one final box under the tree catching his eye, "I bet that one's for you, buddy."

Dean took the box out from under the tree and unwrapped it slowly. On the inside was an envelope. "I got a letter?" he asked. His tone sounded a little disappointed.

"Maybe you better read it, kiddo," Gloria suggested.

Dean opened the envelope. Inside was a picture of a black Labrador Retriever puppy. "T-This is Buddy," he read. "I know you can't have a pu-puppy at your new house, but Buddy lives at the a-animal shelter, and you can feed him and play with him anytime you want, and when you get to your n-new house, you can take him with!"

He laughed, and stars filled his eyes. "I got a puppy!"

* * *

Don Flack woke up that same morning with a smile on his face. He glanced over at his nightstand, where there was a framed photo of him and Jess, taken at some retirement function. She smiled at him, returning his. "Merry Christmas, Jess," he whispered, and got up to take a shower.

He had a date with a little boy and a puppy.

And Christmas was seeming just a little bit brighter.


End file.
